Independence Day
by Kirishtu
Summary: The year is 1791. This isn't Connor's first Independence Day, but it's his first with his apprentice. Connor decides to try a certain food item during the feast, and Hunter finds it extremely amusing.


The sun was rising, and with it, the July heat. Ratonhnhaké:ton, otherwise known as Connor, was already awake, and had been since the breeze had shifted, bringing the smell of smoke. He sat beside the dying fire of his small camp, watching the sky change from black to pink and red with hints of blue. Tiny clouds scudded along, pushed by the breeze that caressed Connor's face. It was peaceful. It reminded Connor of the summer days spent with his people, the Kanien'keha:ka, simply enjoying life. But his people were gone, and had been for years, pushed out of their lands by Congress, the same Congress Connor had helped come to power years ago. It was 1791. He was thirty-five years old. The Revolutionary War had ended more than ten years ago, but he still felt like it was yesterday. And indeed, the things he'd fought and bled for during that time were still happening, still being ignored, still being taken from whom it belonged. Freedom was a quiet word whispered by slaves, as was equality. But Connor had long since been disillusioned by the words of the white man, knowing that words were used as a pretty weapon to get people to do as was wanted. Perhaps that was a cynical way of looking at things, but he knew how well those he'd considered allies had lied to him, and what they had done to his people and the other tribes for the sake of paying debts and increasing space for more and more colonists.

"Brooding before breakfast will upset your stomach."

Connor turned to look at his companion. Hunter grinned at him. The fifteen year old boy was Connor's constant companion, his apprentice, much like Connor had been to Achilles. "I am not brooding."

Hunter's grin lessened to a smile. "You're a terrible liar."

Connor watched as Hunter rose from his bedroll and stretched. He remembered when the boy was just an infant, squalling in Prudence's arms. He'd been there for Hunter's first step, then missed a few years of the boy's life, as an Assassin's work had called him away. When he'd come back to the Davenport Homestead, Hunter was a little boy, running with other children, and talking faster than Connor could understand. He remained a largely familiar presence in Hunter's life, a sort of honorary older brother, the one person Hunter could go to and have someone listen to him without judging.

Oh, the Homestead was a peaceful place, where everyone got along with each other regardless of skin color or ethnicity or beliefs. But that didn't mean strangers looking to settle down, or even the usual merchants, didn't cause their share of grievances.

Connor had lived long enough to know his dual heritage had its advantages. He could walk the streets of Boston and New York and pass as a white man, and because of it had learned a valuable lesson - people treated you differently for no better reason than your skin happened to be different from theirs. But Hunter hadn't known this. Connor had had to step in to stop a merchant from hurting the boy once, and then had him banned from ever returning to the Homestead unless he could show proper respect. Hunter had been ten, and had simply said a polite hello to the merchant's son, who had been about the same age.

Hunter hadn't understood then, though, that the violent reaction to something so normal had been because of the color of his skin.

But he understood now. And that was part of why Connor had relented and took Hunter on as his apprentice. That, and perhaps the boy would have a more pivotal role in the future, either himself, or being a mentor to someone who would change the world as much as Connor had.

"You're doing it again." Hunter said.

Connor frowned. The boy had a knack for interrupting his reflection. "Shut up and enjoy the morning."

"I would, but we have to reach home by the afternoon. You told me that last night."

Connor closed his eyes and sighed. The two of them had been gone on Assassin business since last December, hunting down a newly arrived Grand Master of the Templar Order. They'd finally succeeded in finding him, and silenced him for good before the man could escape west. Now they were heading home, to rest and visit with family.

They packed their camp and erased their presence, then took to the trees and forest trails, heading toward the Davenport Homestead. More than once, Connor had to wait for Hunter to catch up, give him some pointers, then head off again. Everything was training, a lesson. Even when they rested, Connor instructed Hunter in the finer arts of assassination, and talked about the Assassin Brotherhood and its beliefs.

A little past noon, Connor and Hunter arrived home. The Homestead was lively, filled with activity. As the two walked into the small village, a number of people greeted them, all smiles and excitement. Hunter headed for his parents' farm, with Connor trailing behind. Hunter pulled back his hood, revealing his close-cropped black hair and dark skin. Connor did the same. This was the only place they could do so anymore, without fear.

"Mother!" Hunter called out when he was in earshot. The small farmhouse was quiet, but Hunter's voice carried to the field beyond it. Connor watched Hunter quicken his step to meet the woman who'd appeared.

Prudence flung her arms around her son and hugged him tight. She did the same to Connor when he came close. He still tensed, but he gave Prudence a hug in return. She stepped back and gave them both long assessing stares. Then she looked at Hunter. "Your father will be happy you're home."

Hunter smiled. "I'm happy to be home."

"I hope you took good care of my boy, Connor." Prudence said, looking the Assassin in the eyes.

"He grows stronger each day." Connor replied.

"Mom, stop worrying so much." Hunter said, rolling his eyes. "Connor doesn't let me do _anything_."

Prudence gave her son a long look as if she couldn't quite tell if he was lying or not. Connor stayed quiet. He knew very well what Prudence and Warren thought about their only son learning to be an Assassin. Finally, Prudence gave a short sigh. "Well, it's a good thing you two are back. That'll make everything so much easier."

Connor raised an eyebrow. "Make what easier?"

"It's the Fourth of July, Connor. Independence Day." Prudence replied. "You've always been away when we celebrate, so today is special, since you're here."

Connor looked away. Independence Day. When the Declaration of Independence had been written and signed. Before the Revolution. His fight had already begun long before then, but that had been the day the Assassin-Templar war had ben entwined with the fate of the colonies. And, with Connor's help, a new nation had been born. He didn't regret anything - he only wished he could've protected his people better than he had. He looked at Prudence when she touched his cheek. "As much as it's to celebrate the birth of America," she said, "it's in your honor, too. Because without you, none of this would ever be."

Connor smiled a little. "Thank you, but I only did what needed to be done."

"Maybe so, but it takes plenty of courage to fight for any cause, and even more to be able to let go, and watch from afar."

Connor nodded, knowing exactly what Prudence meant. "What needs to be done?" he asked.

Prudence smiled. "First, you two need to clean up. Terry and Godfrey are setting up tables outside The Mile's End, and Oliver and Corrine are making a grand feast. A few merchants brought fireworks, so when it gets dark, we'll shoot them off." Her eyes were bright with excitement.

Connor nodded. He wasn't a lover of the fireworks like everyone else seemed to be, but after dark, he could leave the party, and go be alone and celebrate - or reflect - in his own way. He caught Hunter giving him a long look of askance, but Connor only shook his head. Hunter shrugged and followed his mother to their house, while Connor headed up to the manor.

By mid-afternoon, the entire community of Davenport Homestead was clustered around two long tables in front of the tavern/inn. Connor studied the different dishes, recognizing some but not all. There was turkey, rabbit, pigeon, all prepared different ways, along with crawfish and lobster. There were all manner of fruits and vegetables, and a wide variety of desserts. There were ales and wines and ciders. There were even a few dishes of sweetmeats, though Connor wasn't too sure what sweetmeats were, and one plate of them he noticed Hunter avoiding. It was loud and cheery, adults chatting and smoking pipes, children playing games and stuffing their faces. Despite the good company, Connor felt alone in the celebration. So when he got the chance, he filled a small plate - because he felt it would be rude not to taste a bit of Corrine's cooking - and waited until dusk to slip away to the forest.

Hunter found him only minutes later sitting on a tree branch high above the ground. Connor said nothing as the boy joined him, only continued to nibble on the turkey, turnips, rabbit, and an odd assortment of grey balls he'd thought were interesting. Hunter eyed the plate.

"What?" Connor asked.

"Nothing." Hunter said. "Did you try those yet?" He pointed to the grey orbs.

"No."

"Good. Don't."

"Are they disgusting?" Connor asked. Most of the food at the feast Connor was used to, but these were different. He didn't know what they were.

"Well," Hunter rubbed his neck, "as a rule I just don't eat them. Father says they're good, but I don't trust him as a good reference when it comes to food. I think the lambs would agree with me."

"Lamb?" Connor studied the grey orbs of meat. He'd had lamb before, once, and had thought it was good. A food item he would try again. "You do not like lamb?"

"I like lamb." Hunter said. He pointed. "I don't like those."

"Have you tried them before?"

"No, but-"

Connor put one of those orbs in his mouth. Hunter's eyes went wide. Connor let it rest on his tongue, tasting the spice and vinegar, probably. Then he started to roll it around, feeling the texture. Wrinkly, a little rubbery. It wasn't terrible. Then Hunter started choking, then outright laughing. He nearly fell off the branch they were sitting on because of his hysteria. Connor edged the orb to one side of his mouth and asked curtly, "What?"

Hunter sobered, grinning widely. "You just put a lamb's twiddle-diddles in your mouth!"

Connor blinked. "What?" he asked again.

"Testicles, Connor! You put a poor boy lamb's testicles in your mouth and were rolling them about like a delicacy!"

Connor stared for a moment longer, then leaned over the side of the branch and spat. The lamb testicle plummeted to the ground below, chased by spit and half-choked Kanien'keha:ka as he tried to scrape his tongue clean. Hunter looked on, still amused, though his expression said he had no idea what Connor was saying. Just as well. Prudence would murder Connor if her son started repeating what he was saying.

Finally, Connor sat upright and tossed his plate to the ground below. He rose and started to make his way to the ground. Hunter followed, aware Connor was n a mood that wouldn't take kindly to questions.

A firework lit up the darkening forest, bursting into brilliant colors.

Hunter asked, "Where are you going?"

Connor pulled his bow from his back. "I am going to hunt some _real_ food. Those lamb..." He felt his stomach turn just thinking about it.

"Great!" Hunter said. "I'll go with you."

Connor turned and stalked into the forest, Hunter close behind.


End file.
